


As Thoughts Sink Deeper into the Silence (Not Death but Peace Sometimes Rewards Surrender)

by BatsAreFluffy



Category: DC Extended Universe, Justice League (2017)
Genre: Bottom Bruce Wayne, Collars, D/s In Place of Communication, Dom Clark Kent, Don't Try This At Home, Don't recommend that, I really dig an older Bruce, M/M, Misuse of Kryptonian Powers, PWP without Porn, Post-Justice League (2017), Power Dynamics, Rope Bondage, Safe Sane and Consensual, Shibari, Sub Bruce Wayne, Top Clark Kent, Use Your Words, bondage as therapy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-19
Updated: 2020-08-19
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:07:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25983331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BatsAreFluffy/pseuds/BatsAreFluffy
Summary: Clark withdrew his hands from Bruce’s shoulders.  “Give me your words tonight, Bruce.” At the soft whine, he hushed him. “Sir keeps you safe. Always. Never harms you. But you must obey Sir’s rules.” A pause. “I won’t ask again.”
Relationships: Clark Kent/Bruce Wayne
Comments: 6
Kudos: 79
Collections: Fifth DCEU Fanworks Exchange





	As Thoughts Sink Deeper into the Silence (Not Death but Peace Sometimes Rewards Surrender)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [architeuthis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/architeuthis/gifts).
  * Inspired by [the curve of your neck (like an invitation)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13089600) by [evocates](https://archiveofourown.org/users/evocates/pseuds/evocates). 



> Thank you to everyone in this years Exchange!!
> 
> This is not a how to manual for dealing with emotional repression, or how to properly rig a chest harness or make a proper gyaku ebi form. This is meant to be entertainment only. Practice safe rigging, safe sex, safe therapy, safe cuddling at all times. 
> 
> BIG HUGE THANK YOU to evocates for their beautiful story that I have been fantasizing about. While not a direct inspiration, or spin off or sequel, these lines gave me a huge push to write one of my own. 
> 
> “My rules,” Clark repeated. “But you decide whether or not we play.”  
> (I give the orders, but she calls the shots. Clark was adapting.)
> 
> Seriously, go read it.

Superman descended the stairs to the cave proper. Each crash, each shatter, brought no reaction to his face. He was counting them, more out of habit than any real desire to know what and how many things Bruce was currently demolishing. As he reached the last rung, he floated gentle over the broken pieces of some unfortunate piece of equipment.

“What?” Bruce snarled, standing beside a workbench with the remains of a surveillance camera. Dressed only in the under suit, he looked unfinished – neither Bruce Wayne or Batman. Unhinged, he thought, and running off the rails at an incredible pace.

“Bruce,” he greeted neutrally.

“What do you want, Superman? Come to give me more excuses over that shit show performance?” Bruce slammed the wrench down, stalking around the table.

One hundred fifty two beats per minute. Bruce’s heart was racing under the suit. Superman drifted around the work area. “No.” He kept his tone flat. “You’re upset, I take it?”

Bruce paced, muscles twitching under the fabric. “None of you have any idea – any idea – how to work as a team. How to look after teammates, or god damn it, not make collateral damage to the area a top priority!”

That was a bit rich coming from Batman. He’d read the report about the Gotham Harbour disaster, and Diana’s notes that Batman was known to carve out chunks of Gotham to finish the mission. He didn’t let anything show on his face. “Anything else?”

Bruce bared his teeth. “You could have gotten Curry killed when that building started to collapse. Not all of us are immortal aliens who just need a tan to regenerate. It’s shoddy work, not something superheroes should be proud of. But you all are celebrating this as some big win for the team.” He paused, panting harshly in the empty cave.

“Are you done?”

“Don’t patronize--!”

Superman rushed forward, and locked his hand around Bruce’s throat. He squeezed just enough to cut Bruce’s airflow for four seconds, then relaxed. “That’s enough!” Voice as firm as his grip, he held eye contact for 25 beats, ignoring Bruce’s fingers clawing at his. “You’ve been like this for ten days now. Nothing is good enough for you, you’ve sent Barry home in tears twice, and even Victor is upset at you. No,” he added, as Bruce tried to talk again. “I’m speaking.”

“Get your hands off --!”

Another four seconds held closed, relax. “You are going to tell me what has you so pissed off at everyone. Understand?”

Bruce snarled wordlessly at him, trying to wrench out of his grip. Superman saw his eyes dilate, loose focus, refocus, flicker around the room for solutions.

“I said, understand?”

Bruce twisted, bringing an arm up to slam it into the crook of Superman’s elbow. When the alien only moved enough to let him glance off the joint, he tried to knock his ankles together to drop them both to the floor. Superman simply hovered a few inches, holding Bruce up by his throat. Another twist, trying to throw his weight forward, only served to drift them farther back into the cave structure. A low growl vibrated Superman’s fingers, teeth bared in a futile display.

“You’re frantic,” Superman said softly, suddenly. He tightened his grip again, watched his body start to relax, eyes dilate again, until conscious thought propelled him into flight again. “Oh, Bruce, you should have told me.”

“Don’t! Don’t even, no! I don’t need anything! This team, it has no discipline, no stru--!”

“Hush,” Superman brought a hand up to his temple, stroking the thin skin. “Bruce, enough. I understand.”

“You understand nothing! None of you have any concept --!”

Superman shushed him again, four seconds held, and continued to stroke the soft tendrils of hair. “You need control, Bruce. You need to come down, come down from the Bat, don’t you?”

Bruce stilled for one breath.

Superman let him have three deep breaths, closing his airway again. “You need control, don’t you, Bruce?”

Bruce snarled, trying to fight again – but his eyes gave him away, fully dilated, and glazing over only the faintest bit. Superman lowered them both to the ground, and farther. Pushing on his neck, he sent Bruce to his knees, staring up at the alien. Slowly, patiently, he removed each finger from around Bruce’s throat. He straightened. “Stay there,” he ordered. “Consider your answer.”

A blast of air current, and Superman was gone.

* * *

It was the work of a minute to gather the supplies he needed. Another minute, and he had settled everything into their play room in the back of the cave, save for one decisive item. At the exact moment that it turned into three minutes, he appeared back in front of Bruce. The man had not risen from the floor. But now, without his pacing and destruction, Clark could see the tremors running through Bruce’s muscles. He could see the corded muscles straining against his control. Could see, even kneeling on the ground, hands on his knees, the sway back and forth, desperate energy trying to find release. Bruce was a live current, and there was no grounding point.

Clark could be that point. If Bruce allowed it.

_He decides whether we play, I decide the rules._

Always Bruce’s choice.

Clark stepped forward, keeping his eyes on Bruce’s. He stopped just in front of the kneeling man, and held his gaze. Without words, or sounds, or any cues to guide the choice, he brought up the one item he’d saved from his preparations, ready between his hands.

A black leather collar, silver lock awaiting closure.

Bruce stared at him, body trembling. His heart rate hadn’t slowed down, his control barely enough to leash himself to the spot where Superman – where Clark wanted him. His eyes barely glanced at the collar before returning to Clark’s face. Clark face gave no information, though, waiting with all the patience in the room for Bruce’s answer. He could wait all night. Bruce would either flee, or accept. Or bargain, which never worked well.

Another full tremor shook Bruce. Slowly, never dropping his gaze, he tipped his head back, exposing his throat.

Clark sank to one knee, keeping the satisfaction from his face. Carefully raising the leather, he placed it on Bruce’s exposed clavicle and dragged it up to the hollow of his throat. Clark didn’t miss the arrested tremor, or the sharp inhale as his fingers found his nape and closed the lock securely.

As the lock clicked, Bruce’s whole body shook, his eyes falling shut. Fingers that had been claws on his knees relaxed enough to have blood flow again.

“Thank you, dove,” Clark said, formally and fondly.

Bruce barely opened his eyes. “Sir,” he murmured in response, formal.

“I am sorry, dove, for not helping you sooner.” Clark ran his hands over Bruce’s shoulders, touches light. “You needed Sir much sooner than tonight.”

Bruce leaned into his touch, chin falling.

“I’m here, dove. I’m here, and I’m going to take care of you. Give me your words tonight.”

Bruce stayed silent.

Clark withdrew his hands from Bruce’s shoulders. “Give me your words tonight, Bruce.” At the soft whine, he hushed him. “Sir keeps you safe. Always. Never harms you. But you must obey Sir’s rules.” A pause. “I won’t ask again.”

“Banana Muffin, Strawberry, Blue.” Whispered. “Four plus one tap.”

Clark replaced his hands on his shoulders. “Very good. Thank you.” He held Bruce’s shoulders for a moment, grip tight, and then stood. “You will come with me,” he said softly.

Using one finger in the collar ring, he pulled Bruce to his feet. The man’s balance never ceased to amaze him. With nothing but Clark’s finger, he undulated his spine, rising without moving his feet. While not completely downcast, his eyes were lowered enough to hint at submission... or obedience. Clark knew that there were at least two more rebellions ahead of them. Possibly three. Bruce was so tightly coiled, but he was, in his own backward way, asking for help.

With a click of the leash, Clark was more than happy to assist.

***

"Give me your wrist, Bruce," Clark commanded after clicking the leash to the hanging bar above them, one hand open with rope held in the palm. They had managed the short walk into their playroom with relative ease. Bruce wasn’t great at taking directions, but a hand on the nape of his neck soothed some of the fractious energy. Now, with the door closed and sealed, the lights at half brightness, and the room’s contents in full view, Bruce was tightening up again.

The collar sat beautifully above Bruce’s collarbone, striking in its isolation. Nothing else remained on the older man’s body. Stormy grey eyes had watched warily as Clark had removed everything carefully, without rush, and without arousal. He’d hushed Bruce when he’d tried to start tasting Clark’s skin. Bruce had been less than pleased.

Bruce tested the length of chain he'd been given. A certain look passed his face, the domineering aggression of earlier coming up. He yanked at the chain with his neck, trying to step back, step away from where Clark had placed him. Testing. 

Clark shook his head. "Don't do that," he ordered. Hooking one finger into the collar ring, he pulled Bruce's head back to his gaze. "Give me your wrist, Bruce."

Bruce snarled and tried to yank his head back again. Face impassive, features schooled, Clark slapped him, once. 

It wasn't a particularly hard blow, more sound than anything else. Bruce still saw red for a moment, snarled again and tried to yank away, grabbing Clark's wrist.

Clark broke free of Bruce's grip. "Misbehaviour will not be permitted, Bruce," he said, and slapped the other cheek just as hard. "You will listen to Sir." Two more slaps, and Bruce had stilled, eyes losing focus. "Give me your wrist," Clark said, voice firm but low. 

Clark waited for the few seconds it took for Bruce to decide to behave. He kept his hand up, palm empty, waiting for Bruce to place his wrist atop the rope. Bruce swallowed, still shaking with adrenaline. Slowly, he raised his hand, turned the palm upwards, and held it above Clark's palm. He hesitated, a frown creasing his brows. 

Clark simply waited, his expression passive yet attentive. 

Bruce dropped his wrist into Clark's hand. "Thank you," Clark said, and began to wrap the tie around his wrist, the simple one column bind simple and secure. "I'm not here to harm you, Bruce. I don't like having to punish you." The first wrist was hooked securely onto the end of the before he stepped back in front of Bruce.

Bruce snarled, tugging at the restraint. “I disagree,” he said darkly. “You’re getting off on this, Clark.”

Clark stepped back, face closed. In a rush of air, he sped to the back of the back of the room, and returned with something. “You know the rules. You are breaking them on purpose, to get a reaction out of Sir.” He raised one finger at Bruce, who looked ready to bite it. “We are not doing that tonight. You are Sir’s, and you will obey Sir’s rules.

“And the first rule is good submissives don’t talk back. Or,” he raised his other hand, leather ball gag dangling, “or Sir will have to stop you with force. Choose.”

Bruce hated the gag, he had told Clark once. Silence enforced on him touched too many open wounds. Some of his training had involved one, but he never clarified. He also never forbid they use one. He done the opposite, in fact.

Bruce had quietly commissioned one with a softer ball, with an extra head strap to keep it in place. _Use it when you think I might bite your cock off_ , he had whispered one night, collar snug around his neck. _I might not remember how – futile – that would be, in certain...states. But, only when ... when I need it the most, Sir. I trust you, to know when that time comes. Sir knows what ... what I need._ Clark had tucked it safely away in its case, and lavished praise over his brave dove.

It was a sign of Clark’s exasperation that he pulled it out at all. Tonight, Bruce needed to be reminded why they were there, in their room. They were in their room, alone, rather than letting the Bat loose at the docks to break a whole host of jaws and femurs.

Bruce stared at the gag, swaying in place. He’d gone pale the moment Clark had held it up. His jaw moved, tongue flicking over his lips, and swallowing several times.

“Sir is not doing this for himself. This is for you, because you need it, because you need to let me take the burden of the world from you, right here, right in this room. I take your safety very seriously. You know my rules, dove. Choose.”

Bruce shook suddenly, a quiet whine escaping from between bitten lips. His breathing had gone erratic. His eyes stayed fastened to the gag, shining suddenly.

Clark stepped forward, using his powers to float just enough so he could look down on Bruce. “Choose, dove,” he said again, softly.

Bruce closed his eyes, eyelashes wet. “I’m ... I am sorry, Sir. Please, sir, I’ll be... I’ll be good, please.” The tremors had entered his voice now. No domineering tones could be found.

“I accept, dove.” Clark walked back to a small table, placed the gag into its velvet box, clicked it shut. “That was well done.”

Bruce kept his eyes downcast, limbs still shaking. He shook even as Clark ghosted his hands down his body, even as he raised, without prompting, his other wrist for binding.

* * *

The first lark's head knot settled into place on Bruce's solar plexus, tightening as Bruce breathed out. Clark kept his hands ghosting over the ropes and bare skin as he reversed direction and repeated the pass around again. "We're very much like this knot, you know. No matter which direction we come from, we circle each other, and tighten," another lark head's and returned to the original direction, "the bonds between us."

He slipped the ends through the trench of Bruce's spine, wound them in a web around the heads. "No matter which way you turn, I'm always there, surrounding you," he whispered into Bruce's ear, raising goose bumps all down the bare shoulder.

The hint of cool ice breath caused Bruce to shake in his hands. "Surrounded, sir?" Bruce asked quietly. 

"Surrounded," Clark confirmed, gathering the skein of rope yet to be used. "East to West," he said, running his hand around Bruce's waist. "And South to North," he finished, pulling the rope over Bruce's shoulder. Deft fingers slipped the end under the rib cage ropes, and cinched it tight before Clark reached down for the rope. Floating behind Bruce's back, he could reach down, pulling the rope over Bruce's other shoulder, keeping the tightness constant.

As Clark passed the rope back around his shoulders again, down to the base of the harness, Bruce's shoulders sank. Clark smiled to himself, and stroked the blades beside the ropes. "Very good. You're doing so well."

He slipped in front, passing the rope tightly over the top of his pectorals. Another anchoring tie, and he began to weave the two supports together. “We’re always there for each, whatever we need;” another pass around, and Clark wove in the last of the ends. “Always tightly entwined.”

Clark smiled, tipping Bruce’s chin up to make sure everything was alright. “My beautiful dove,” he said. “Such a sight to behold, I’ll never be done seeing you like this.”

Bruce’s brow furrowed. “Like this, Sir?”

“Free from the world.” Clark floated up, and unhooked the leash from the bar above them. He wrapped it slowly around his fist, pulling himself closer to the bound man. “Free in every moment.” He unhooked the clip from the collar itself, and tucked the leash away. “Freely given submission is always a breathtaking sight.”

Bruce shook his head very slowly, almost dream like, but he didn’t move. He didn’t shift as Clark detached his wrists from the bar above his head. “Sir?” he asked, trying to look behind him.

“Stay, dove. I’m not letting you go. I have you,” Clark said warmly. “I’m here. And you’re here, in this spot, dove, right now.” He began to weave the wrist’s rope into the harness at his spine, tightening each rope.

“And soon,” he murmured, resting his hands on Bruce’s shoulders when both wrists were tied back securely. “You won’t even be in this spot.” A ghost of a kiss at the nap of his neck caused Bruce to shiver for another reason.

“Hold still, dove, while I make you fly,” he said, and pulled the rigging rope. Super strength met gravity, and won soundly.

Clark watched Bruce’s face as he realized what Clark was doing. The weight lift from his feet, barely touching the ground as his Sir hoisted him into the air without effort, without strain. With another soft moan, he sank into the harness, and dropped his head, relenting to the moment.

* * *

Each wrap around the ankle, Clark made sure to rub his hand up the quivering calf. "I know," he said soothingly. "You want to bolt, lash out, move." He paused, holding the finished ankle in his hand, before letting it hang in the air above the ground. The rope remainders were left neatly coiled, waiting to be tied down. 

Shifting slightly, he reached for the last limb to be tethered, lifting onto his lap. "You are so strong, to stay here," a ghost of a kiss, "to let me tether you to one instant. Keep moving, that's what you tell them, when they first start to fly." The first lark's head cinched closed, the second fitted well. There was no resistance. He would have been worried about Bruce being able to even stand at this point, save for the rope harness holding him up. 

Clark stood back up. He ran his fingers along several ropes, brushing the skin between them. Running up the strong chest, he trailed lightly over the first harness, and finally up to cup Bruce’s face. “So strong,” Clark whispered. “Such a clever dove, teaching the fledglings to fly.”

Bruce swallowed, eyes roving Clark’s face, a frown pinching his brow.

“You’re doing well, Bruce.”

“Th-thank you, sir,” Bruce murmured, brow clearing.

“Now, you’re going to fly,” Clark said gently. “Fly in one moment, this moment, with Sir.” He picked up the remainder ropes of both ankle binds, and began to wind them into the harness.

* * *

"There," Clark murmured. "There you are, my dove. You're here now, aren't you?" The last of the rope was tucked away, and the figure was complete. Chest tilted toward the ground, ankles secured at the back of the chest harness, arms lightly twisted behind to touch each elbow, Bruce was floating in a nest of rope, present in a way he hadn’t been in weeks. Feeling everything now, not when he rescheduled it, experiencing everything now, and not hiding away. Sir wouldn’t let him hide away.

Bruce's eyes were at half mast, focus gone. They didn't track Clark's hands as they lifted his chin. His shoulders stayed lax, gentle slopes tilting to the floor. "Here with me, not out there. No one to watch."

Bruce leaned into Clark's hand, a soft whimper escaping. 

"That's it, isn't it?" Clark whispered, rubbing his fingers through Bruce's hair. "You don't have to be responsible for anyone right now. I've taken that away. No choices, no duties." Another whimper ghosted between them. "No one to watch - because I'm watching. Keep your focus here, Bruce. Only here. No one else is here, because I won't let them be here." 

Soft tremors shook Bruce’s body. His tight throat barely let the whine out. 

"That's it, Bruce. Very good. Understand that. You are not responsible. You have no tasks, no duties. You are only here. In this moment. Focusing on Sir."

"I ... I ... sir, I...."

"You are here, dove. Who looks after you when you are here?"

"Sir."

"Who takes every responsibility when you are here?"

“S-sir.” He was panting now, shaking harder.

"That's right. Sir does, because it is my honour to take that burden from you. Sir is strong enough to hold that for you, aren't I?"

Bruce whined, rocking. Clark reached out, grabbed his flanks, held him steady in the rigging. "It's my honour to take that from you. Let go of it, so you might be free."

"Sir, please ..."

Clark felt his heart lift. _Finally,_ he thought, _finally we get to the heart of it all_. Smiling softly, he whispered, "Let it go, Bruce."

"Please... pl .... sir!"

“Dove, let go. Sir is here.” He raised his hands under him, a universal symbol to Bruce. _I’ll catch you._ “I’m right here, dove. Let go.”

Bruce sobbed in the restraints, keeping his eyes on Clark. “S –sir!”

He raised his hands, cupped Bruce’s face. He pulled him over enough to rest his forehead on Bruce’s, eyes bright. “Let go,” he ordered, firmly, with all his love. “Let go, for Sir, dove. Now.”

The bound man wailed, tears flowing freely down his face, over his Sir’s fingers. He was shaking apart, Sir’s hands the only thing holding him steady. Each sob shook him more, each hitch of breath only reinforced the pull of the ropes, holding him, steadying him, keeping him tethered and held and made to come undone. Another command, another gut-wrenching wail ripped out of his control and into the space between them. And still, Sir’s hands held him, ripped him open, took him apart, strong enough for both of them....

He shook, and sobbed, and felt the darkness crashing over him.

* * *

Clark laid Bruce down on the soft nest of duvets. His dove hadn’t awoken from after their session yet. He often dropped hard afterwards. Getting him cleaned up and untangled went easier without the Batman popping back online by accident. That had happened only once, but it had undone nearly twelve hours of relaxation and submission in less than five minutes.

Clark was free to rub the chaffed skin with oils, and wipe down the sweet and tears from his face. He was free to whisper more words of endearment, and love, and praise, knowing that Bruce’s subconscious would hear them, file them away for another day.

He left the soft leather collar on, though. Bruce preferred to be awake when that piece was removed from play. It was a comfort, to feel the subtle pressure when he woke up. Clark would give him whatever comfort he could give.

That comfort included curling around him, holding him tight to his chest, stroking lax muscles and warm flesh. He dimmed the lights, let the soft light mix with the classical music coming from the corner, and wrapped them both inside their nest.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Pete Hulme's poem 'No Surrender', c 2013.


End file.
